


Our Rooms Don't Touch

by reliquexia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Denial, Dry Sex, Eventual Smut, Exploring bodies, F/M, Growing Up Together, King's Landing, Teens, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 01:08:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8267122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reliquexia/pseuds/reliquexia
Summary: What if you grew up with someone and never realized the things you did were not what friends shared?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh puberty. When literally lives are turned upside down because the hormones. And the bodies. Inspired by some IRL sitches, as well as this fic I read like 6 years back that I can't find, and the author never updated halfway through...6 years back :( Also, Jon's just adopted.

It wasn't something they did knowingly. All the children did so over cool autumns. They'd dip into the hot springs, then try to steal the clothes of the opposite gender. It was more innocent in thought than it sounded. Arya wanted to see all the boys suffer embarrassment as they would trudge buck naked back to the castle. Their cousin Theon did similarly to her when she turned him into the butt of a fencing joke as revenge, and he had gleaned this trick from other local lads. So when Arya tugged Sansa along to steal the clothes of Theon, she assumed it was all in good fun. Her Septa would never find out, and mother would get angry at her sister. 

Sansa knew everyone expected a regality in her manner, as she was nine, and a very important age to start acting like a Lady. But the boys had all turned eleven early that year, and they still goofed around as much as they'd like without so much a glare from her Lord father. So she grabbed the ugliest set of clothes from the pile, knowing full well Theon had no taste despite his constant bragging of his royal heritage and noble breeding.

She brought the clothes to her younger sister, hiding by the stables, the closest part of Winterfell after the woods. Even Arya knew her lack of grace wouldn't be beneficial to her plan at the tender age of seven. Sansa proudly tossed the trousers at her sibling, happy she could use her noble training, and still play. Until her sister started yelling.  
"Why did you bring Jon's pants!?!" she said, huffing at the foiled plan. The silhouettes of two boys began to emerge out of the woods, as Arya ran back home, glaring at Sansa for disturbing her favorite brother, and ruining her attempts to get back at her haughty cousin. Sansa reluctantly grabbed the belt and slacks and headed back to the woods, annoyed that she couldn't even use her lady-like skills to solve this problem she created. 

When she looked back, he was standing by a tree, tugging his shirt in an attempt to hide his unmentionables. She often heard Theon brag about the hair on his, but was curious to see if it applied to everyone. "I'll show mine if you show yours!" she yelled out in panic, throwing his clothes back at him. Curiosity got the best of them both as they both peeked through their fingers as they pretended to cover their eyes, and it was the first of an interesting turn of events for the two as they laughed it out and pretended to forget their mutual madness

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Somehow the incident made them both friends. It wasn't to Lady Catlin's approval, but Jon started asking Sansa to join them when they played war, making her the princess he had to save as he fought Arya's attempts to stab him with a wooden sparring sword. The children aged, and her mother's disapproval of Jon grew stronger. Unable to handle the disappointed tutting of his adopted father's wife, Jon suggested they read stories of the Old Gods and the Dragon Princes in her bedroom once everyone washed up after dinner. He did not expect her to heartily agree, and ready her foot rest by the fireplace with oat cakes and milk for them as they play acted the scenes they read. 

They had gotten through most of the books on the lower shelves he could nick from the Maester, and years passed to where both kids treated their nightly meetings as a comfort. Until one night, he looked over to Sansa and noticed her hair was loose, and that there was another citrus scent to what he associated with Sansa's presence. She was growing up, and was warned by her Septa to cover her nightgown with her long red hair at night. It had become a habit while the boys took a trip with father to a nearby town, and when they returned, she automatically practiced the same ritual with Jon. 

When she mentioned this to Arya, she was thrown another fistful of dirt at her face.  
"Who cares about following that dumb Septa's rules anyhow? He's my brother, and if I decided to chase monsters in my birthday suit then she could do nothing about it!" she she announced, answering the question more obtusely than Sansa preferred. Yet something did not resolute the same in her mind as Arya walked away. Perhaps her more wild sister did not think upon proprietary, and manners, but Sansa was sure you extended the same courtesy to that of a grown man she did not know, as you did to someone who made her feel the same curiosity as he did. Nothing truly changed between the friends, and then all at once, it did.

It started when he woke up changed, and his brother Robb explained to him that he was becoming a man. He tried to ignore every pull and tug his body felt, and reminded himself of a slaughterhouse, Theon's face, and the cook's rainy weather sludge, but the urges kept coming and going at the worst possible time. As the years passed, the Maester's story collection dwindled, and Sansa had found a book with a particularly scandalous chapter about a milk maid, and a knight from her handmaiden. Images flashed in front of his eyes, and he furiously shook his head, eyes wide, looking anywhere but at Sansa. However, as he turned around, he noticed she was gone from her seat and kneeling her head on his knee, fluttering her eyelashes at a mock of the characters in the pages. 

Line by line she spewed the corny dialogue, and even gave him a kiss, until she started to laugh, unable to control herself. He nervously chuckled along, thinking about how fate had saved him from humiliation as he glanced across the next page. Little Jon had no place or business bothering him at this precious time with his friend. At 15, he was no longer at an age where he could ignore the sickening dreams he had at night. The lemony fragrance in the air would permeate the halls as a highborn woman with no face would dance dangerously close to him as he got more out of breath. In the end he would be wrapped around her fiery hair, and would wake up to find his bed a right mess. He lied to himself, and repeated to himself that it was the cook's daughter. Even though she wasn't nearly tall as the woman he saw every night, or so graceful. 

The time they got their direwolves and Theon joked about how Lady should not interact with his pet, Ghost, lest he get the wrong idea, and all he could think of was her in bed, rolling around as their wolves did in play, acting out a fight scene from one of their favorite books, until she morphed into the woman with no face. That night, change had come to both of them. Sansa had turned 14, and people all over the kingdom began to offer a chance at their hand. She had lain her head upon his shoulder as they criticized the manner of which many of the proposals were penned towards her. The Manderly's never mentioned her name, always referring to her in relation to her father, or her position in Winterfell. An older man from Dorne was audaciously lewd about her child rearing hips, while the detached manner of a House Glover knight made her giggle in earnest. 

"Does he think me a specimen of plant to harvest? Noting my lineage, and how his dark hair will go finely against my lighter? That because he assumes he is a great gentleman, that I am an unread, and naive flower for him to pluck? Can he not see me as a true woman?" she whispered to herself, placing the paper on a flaming log. Sansa tilted her head up to the boy she was closest to in this house. The one who never treated her as a prize to be won, or just another virgin to ruin. It made her more interested in him all the more, and found herself pondering about his well-being throughout the day. 

"What about my needs?" she said, staring at his serious eyes, all mischief dissipated. 

"What of your needs my lady?" he replied back hoarsely, fingers lightly on either of her arms. The young mistress found herself flipping open the book they never finished reading. The one where Jon had abruptly announced that he had to leave before their first candle even burned out. It mentioned a hard thing traveling over a passage like a ship. It said to get to where they wanted, the maid had to rock her boat. What type of boat she road had got to be one of magic and oddity, but her body told her to act it out, right then and there, so she started moving as if on a horse. 

Jon's fingers tightened around her waist, as their breaths got shorter. She kept reading the passage, and blushed deep at the new line. It had the knight order the maid to push back on the rudder below her lap. She knew what the something hard poking her bottom was, and no doubt it could too be implied at the maid's rudder, so she began to increase her rhythm as a warm sensation began to build up inside her. All too soon, she was feeling too much, and she climbed off and headed to bed, barely sending a goodnight to Jon, as he sheepishly began to walk out of her room. 

"Er...Jon?" she called before he shut her door. His head popped back in, face pink as hers.  
"Can we do this again tomorrow?" she said with the last bit of courage she had. He nodded quickly, and bolted out of the room. Perhaps she had scared him away, she worried. Maybe he still saw her as his sister. All that had changed was how she looked at him? But she couldn't think much more as she tossed and turned herself to exhaustion and fell asleep.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The next night, Jon made sure to wear the thickest leather jerkin he owned, and to clear his system so to speak during his night wash. As he saw Sansa, he knew these attempts to hide his impure feelings for her would be ruined. He was not quite sure what they were doing, but it was not what Robb described a man and woman did, and what he should not attempt to avoid a bastard child. But he also felt like her reputation would be ruined if they knew she had a soft spot for some baseborn adoptee. 

For the first time in years, Sansa had braided her hair up. He could see the darker peaks pebble as she sat herself back into the precarious position of last time, but facing him this night. She started to "gallop" on him, and he frantically moved his thumbs lower from her chest as her ample bosom began to spring down on the backs of his nail. He counted from 100 backwards, tried to name all the cities in the North involved in trade with their father, and even started to shake his leg in impatience, only to spur her on further, and amplify his urges. 

It was his turn to close the book, and leave the room. They had crossed a line. He could never see her the same again. The woman in his dreams slowly began to form features as more nights like these ventured. He would still not admit to himself whose they were. Instead, Jon indulged himself by wearing a wool pant leg, and even planting a close mouth lip to her neck. It was the first night that she arched up to him, and left scratched on his back. They had built up their tolerance for each other over the months, but he almost came at that simple thought. The duo panted into each others space, sharing a knowing look that they started something much more impure than they fooled themselves to believe. 

This time it was Sansa who was taken south by their father. The future Prince Joffrey was apparently interested in her. It angered him that the fool was anything under smitten by her. Months passed to years, and at 19, their cousin was back again to take them into a whore house. Deathly afraid to have a bastard, all he could do was look and observe what the women did, and note that it was not very far from what he and Sansa did months back. But he figured that if he kept it at only what they did, there would be no issue. So the day when Sansa arrived sun-kissed, hair more strawberry blonde than ever, he grabbed his thinnest cotton trousers, and a lewder story he had bought in his trip to town in the whore house. It was all pretense however, when he realized that the wardrobe of the south was so much more gauzy and...and just plain less than he knew. Winter was coming, and the whole castle had gotten cooler, despite the warmth of the hot springs. Not only could he count the goose-flesh on her chest, but he noted a dark thatch of trimmed hair visible between the lace undergarments below her...pantaloons? He could only assume was a southern trend that the women North did not follow. 

Impatient, and with his appetite properly whetted, Jon grabbed her waist and settled him down on his lap. She was working herself dangerously slow, and any attempts at him bucking faster was met with total stop in movement on her part, so he played fair at the excruciatingly lazy pace she set. Few minutes into their game, he pressed his lips back at the junction of her smooth throat. He groaned all the more as she yanked his hand up, and placed them squarely on her full breasts. His kisses turned open mouth as he started licking up to her jaw, hands heavy with the soft globes. For the first time that night, he could feel her excitement outside of her blown out irises. It surprised him that she too got slick down there, a place he was still to shy to think about near her. And he had heavily overestimated how strong he was, and that she would too be wearing her thicker skirts, because he could feel the hints of the wet valleys and junctions she had as she started rubbing against him harder. 

"This is not what ladies do, this is not what ladies do," she moaned, finally finding her pleasure, perhaps learning something down south. His eyes went blind white alongside her, ruining his pants. 

"What have we done?" he whispered to himself in dismay.


End file.
